


Hunters and Old Ladies

by kattahj



Category: Supernatural, The Wind on the Moon
Genre: Gen, Humor, kangaroos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-25
Updated: 2007-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Winchester boys run into a pair of elderly sisters rumoured to be witches, Dean finds out the dangers of drinking from the wrong bottle. Crossover with Eric Linklater's The Wind on the Moon, but you can understand the fic without reading the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunters and Old Ladies

”Dude, they're split from crotch to chest,” Dean said, leafing through the autopsy reports. He slid a photograph across the table to his brother. ”What the hell does that?”

Sam pushed his cup of coffee aside and picked up the photograph, grimacing when he saw what was in it. ”Nothing in dad's journal?”

”Not that I can find. You got anything from the locals?”

Sam made a see-saw motion with his hand. ”No one's seen anything, but some kids mentioned a couple of old ladies that are supposed to be witches. The...”

”Palfrey sisters?” Dean asked. ”Yeah, I heard that too. Most likely we're talking eccentric old biddies who just want to be left alone. Still, it's not like we have any other leads.”

”No, I guess not,” Sam said with a sigh.

Dean grinned and gulped down the last of his coffee. ”On the other hand, maybe they're succubi in disguise.”

Sam pushed the chair back and unfolded his long legs with some relief. The diner's booths were way too small. ”Have you ever heard of succubi that split people in half?”

”First time for everything. Now, come on, get a move on.”

Dean stepped out of the car and gave the Palfrey house a long, critical look. ”Cosy. Maybe they really are witches.”

Sam snorted. ”Do you somehow find it offensive that people have nice homes?”

”There's nice, and then there's...” Dean made a gesture to encompass the two-storey house, the picket fence, the cropped grass, and the begonias in the windows. ”This. It's too much, it's gotta be fake. Either they're Stepford people, or they're trying too hard to seem normal.”

”Or,” a British voice said from behind him, ”we're making fun of the whole idea.”

Both brothers spun around, staring at the white-haired old lady who was leaning on the gate.

”Just an alternative interpretation, that's all,” she said with a smile. ”Hello. I'm Dinah Palfrey. Who might you be?”

Dean dug out a badge from his pocket and flashed it briefly. ”Special Agent Plant, FBI. This is my assistant, Special Agent Page.”

”Feds!” she said with obvious delight. ”Oh, this _is_ exciting. Would you like to come in? I'm sure my sister would love to meet you. We've never had feds visiting before.”

Sam threw Dean a glance. ”Uh... yes, ma'am. Actually, we meant to ask you a couple of questions.”

”About that nasty business in the graveyard?” Miss Palfrey asked. ”I do hope you can put a stop to it. So gruesome.”

They stepped into the house, and Sam came within inches of treading on a raccoon that came running across the floor. It gave him a reproachful and surprisingly intelligent glare across its shoulder and kept running.

Dean found himself face to face with a large coat rack shaped as a woman with four arms, nice curves, and an unsettling expression.

”Bombardian art,” Miss Palfrey said, hanging her coat on it. ”I think it's ghastly, but Dorinda likes it. Dorinda!” she hollered. ”We've got feds visiting!” In a lower voice, she added, ”Go on, hang your jackets on it. It won't bite. I think.”

Sam, dumbfounded, took off his jacket and hung it on the rack. Dean just glared at the thing, keeping his on.

A second woman came out into the hall. She looked a lot like the first one, except that her hair was grey rather than white.

”Feds! Oh, this _is_ exciting,” she said, just like her sister.

”Isn't it just?” Miss Palfrey – Miss Dinah Palfrey – said. She sounded proud, as if she'd produced the FBI agents herself. ”This is Special Agent Plant, and that's Special Agent Page. Or was it the other way around?”

Miss Dorinda frowned. ”What, like the rock musicians?”

Dean's jaw dropped. Miss Dinah looked from him to Sam, and then to her sister. ”Rock musicians?”

”Mm,” Miss Dorinda said. ”I can't remember the band's name, but I saw them once, back in... oh, seventy-one, I think.”

”You saw Zeppelin?” Dean asked slowly. ”You?”

She snapped her fingers. ”That was their name!”

”You always did things like that,” Miss Dinah said, sounding petulant. ”And you never asked me to come along.”

”Well, they weren't very good,” Miss Dorinda said apologetically.

”I hardly think that's the...” Miss Dinah stopped in the middle of her sentence and turned to stare at Dean and Sam. ”Hang on. If you aren't Agents Plant and Page, who are you?”

The brothers looked at each other, and then Sam shrugged, giving up. ”My name is Sam, this is Dean. We're trying to figure out who did those graveyard murders.

”Not feds,” Miss Dorinda said, disappointed.

”No surnames provided, though,” Miss Dinah observed. ”That's mysterious, isn't it?”

Miss Dorinda sighed, and then nodded. ”Perhaps we'd all better sit down for a cup of tea.”

”So you do think they're murders?” Miss Dorinda prompted, pouring the tea.

”Well, yeah,” Dean said. ”What else could it be?”

”Animals?” Miss Dinah suggested, sounding pretty doubtful.

Sam took a sip of his tea. He'd never admit it in front of Dean, but it tasted a lot better than that coffee they'd had before in the diner. ”What animals would split people from crotch to chest?”

The women exchanged glances.

Sam's eyes narrowed. ”Have you two _seen_ one?”

”Well, no,” Miss Dinah said.

”Yes,” said Miss Dorinda.

Miss Dinah stared at her.

”There was a pig,” Miss Dorinda said. ”A white pig. With... uh... red eyes.”

”Albino,” Miss Dinah filled in. ”Razorback. Mm. Yes.”

”I thought you said you didn't see it?” Dean asked.

”Oh,” said Miss Dinah, two red splotches forming on her cheeks. ”Right.”

”A pig?” Sam asked slowly. ”What kind of _pig_ could possibly do that? Even with foot-long tusks...” He shook his head. ”Unless we're talking razorbacks with actual razors.” His eyes widened. ”Holy shit!”

He put his teacup down blindly, and it rattled on the saucer. ”Grave sow.”

Dean frowned, and then sat back, stunned. ”Son of a bitch. That's a new one. I didn't even think they existed.”

”They're fairly well-documented in Scandinavia,” Sam pointed out. ”I've just never heard of one in the US before.”

”This town was founded by Scandinavians,” Miss Dorinda said. ”More tea? Maybe they brought some over, as pets, and they broke free.”

”They're not really 'pet' kind of creatures,” Dean said, wincing at the thought.

”What is a grave sow anyway?” Miss Dinah asked, taking a cookie. ”Some sort of wild boar?”

”That would be one way of describing them,” Sam said tentatively.

”But not a correct one?”

”Maybe they're ghosts,” Miss Dorinda said in a delighted tone. ”Whoooo-oink oink!”

Both old ladies giggled. Sam threw Dean a panicked look that said, _They couldn't possibly...?_ Dean looked back: _Nah, no way. I think._

”Wait a minute,” Dean said, catching up with his brain. ”Did you see 'em or not?”

They Palfrey sisters exchanged glances.

” _Someone_ saw them,” said Miss Dorinda. ”Someone very trustworthy. It's just that he...”

”Would prefer to stay incognito,” Miss Dinah filled in.

Miss Dorinda nodded enthusiastically. ”Yes. That. You could say that a little bird told us.”

For some reason, this caused both women to start laughing.

Dean leaned back and closed his eyes. ”Okay, I need a drink.”

”There's brandy in the cupboard,” Miss Dinah said, standing up. ”If you're quite done with your tea, perhaps my sister and I could do the dishes for a while.”

Miss Dorinda made a grimace. ”Why would we... Oh. _Oh._ ” Her eyes widened, and she turned to the Winchesters. ”We're just going to have a bit of gossip. You don't mind, do you?”

”No, actually,” Sam said faintly. ”We were planning something similar ourselves.”

”All right, then!”

The two old ladies gathered up the dishes and leftover cookies, and disappeared into the kitchen, whispering eagerly to one another.

Sam waited for them to get out of sight before saying, ”I think they're telling the truth.”

”Yeah,” Dean said, his eyes still closed. ”Which means they're full strength crazy, but that their anonymous friend really did see a grave sow. Unless we're lucky and they're lying their asses off to cover up their homicidal Satanic rituals.”

”They didn't seem the homicidal type.”

”How many homicidal types have you met who seemed the homicidal type?”

Sam gave it a moment's thought. ”Some.”

”Yeah, well, still.” Dean opened his eyes and gave Sam a pained look. ”Do you have any clue how to kill a grave sow?”

”Not really,” Sam admitted. ”You?”

”None.”

”Well, they are ghosts, aren't they?” Sam suggested tentatively. ”We could...”

”What? Salt and burn its bones? Pig bones? They'll be sausage all over America.”

Sam frowned. ”Are grave sows pigs _before_ they die, or just after?”

”Hm,” Dean said. ”You got something there. We need to do more research on this stuff. But first I'm gonna have that drink.”

He stood up from the chair and went over to the cupboard. ”Now, where's that brandy? Hey, whiskey! Even better!”

The bottle in hand, he looked around for a glass, but since he didn't find one he simply sunscrewed the cap and drank from the bottle. Halfway through the swig, he coughed, swallowing hard. Slowly, he took the bottle from his lips and gave it a long look. ”That's not whiskey.”

”What is it?” Sam asked.

Dean didn't answer. His face twitched in a disturbing way, and then it _transformed_ – Sam couldn't believe his eyes, much less interpret what he was seeing. The eyes grew larger and darker, the face longer and fuzzier, and the clothes fell from Dean's body as the legs folded back the wrong way, the arms shrank and the torso grew...

”Dean!” Sam hollered. ”No! Dean!!”

The bottle crashed to the floor. What stood before Sam now was a kangaroo – a kangaroo that shook its head as if to clear it.

Miss Dorinda came rushing back inside from the kitchen. ”What is it?” When she spotted the kangaroo, she froze, and then she clasped her hands together, shouting, ”Dinah! Oh, Dinah, come quickly! It worked! It finally worked!”

Sam grabbed her arm, hard, not caring that she was a frail old woman. ”What have you done to my brother?”

”We haven't done anything!” she protested. ”We were in the kitchen!”

The kangaroo grunted, and Miss Dorinda sighed a little. ”Dinah said you could have some brandy, dear,” she told him. ”Not whiskey. It's hardly our fault if you go snooping around for other bottles, is it?”

Miss Dinah entered the room too, her arms flecked with soap suds up to the elbows. ”Oh, Dorinda,” she said, her face lighting up at the sight of the kangaroo. ”I can't believe it. It's like a dream! After all these years!”

Sam, who couldn't believe it either, even though he'd seen some very weird stuff, said, ”You're witches.”

Miss Dinah blushed. ”That's really overstating it.”

”A lot,” Miss Dorinda added. ”After all, we've only ever wanted to do one thing, and we flubbed it for more than fifty years.”

”We did do other things, though. During the experiments, I mean.”

”Does it really count as witchcraft if you do it by accident?”

The sisters frowned at each other, and Sam held up a hand to stop them from following that thought to... wherever. ”Wait. You only ever wanted to do one thing, and it was turning people into kangaroos?”

They looked very affronted. ”Not people. Us!”

The kangaroo – Dean, Sam reminded himself – thumped its tail. His tail. Hard.

”He can't understand you, dear,” Miss Dinah said. ”You're a kangaroo.”

Dean started thumping his legs too, and looked ready to attack. Even knowing that this was his brother, Sam still drew back a little. It was such a _big_ kangaroo.

The sisters didn't seem phased, though. Dorinda even rolled her eye when she told the kangaroo, ”You can't kill us. Then you'd be stuck this way. What sort of a plan is that?”

”And how many times do we have to tell you this isn't our fault?” Miss Dinah. ”That's like drinking someone's Drano--”

”Without permission.”

”--without permission and then claiming that they poisoned you.”

This didn't seem to calm Dean, so despite his racing heart, Sam stepped in between the frail women and the angry kangaroo, raising his hands. ”Okay, okay. Can you reverse it?”

”Well, of course we can!”

”It was the first thing we learned how to do.”

”Well, second. After that five-foot-feet potion.”

Miss Dinah grimaced. ”That was awful.”

”Tell me about it. I kept tripping over your feet.”

”Oh, you're a real bleeding heart, you are.”

”How?” Sam shouted.

They stared at him. ”How what?”

”How do we reverse it?”

”Oh!” Miss Dorinda clapped her hands. ”I'll get the Reset. You just sit tight. Or hop around in the garden, if you'd rather.”

Sam hadn't known that a kangaroo could roll its eyes.

”Why kangaroos?” Dean asked, scratching his head. It felt weird, having his own ears back. ”They're not exactly native to New England.”

”They're not native to old England either,” Miss Dorinda said. ”But they're awfully practical animals, what with the pouches and all. For lady kangaroos, I mean.”

”Yeah, I guess I can see that,” Dean said reluctantly. ”Gotta be packing a mean punch in those hind legs, too. Though I guess you wouldn't...”

”Oh, absolutely!” Miss Dinah exclaimed. ”That's why we did it in the first place – as children, I mean. To get back at some bullies.”

”So you've been kangaroos before,” Sam said very slowly, trying the words out as he said them.

”Once, yes. We knew a witch, you see, and she gave us a potion...”

”Gave _you_ a potion,” Miss Dorinda said, sounding petulant. ”I never even got to meet her.”

”I know, I'm sorry.” Miss Dinah turned to the brothers and explained. ”She moved away, while we were in Bombardy saving our father from... well, it's a long story. Thing is, we never found her again. So after a while, we thought, why not try making the potion ourselves? Except we ended up making the five-foot-feet potion instead.”

”And then the rubber ball potion.”

”The fur potion. Handy on a winter night, but not very inconspicuous.”

”The crocodile potion.” Miss Dorinda got a sly look to her. ”That was interesting.”

”So you keep saying. Can't you try it some time, just so I get to see?”

”You turned into a crocodile?” Sam asked.

”No, that crocodile man. What's his name?”

”Steve Irwin?”

”No, no, no,” Miss Dorinda said. ”Mick something. 'That's not a knife, this is a knife.'”

”Mick Dundee,” Dean said, grinning. ”I would've liked to see that.”

”Mm,” she said enthusiastically. ”He was _very_ attractive. I tell you, if it had been anyone but Dinah underneath...”

”I don't remember a thing,” Miss Dinah complained. ”I have to trust Dorinda's word that she didn't ravish me while I was under the influence.”

”I'd never do that, darling!”

”Anyway, all in all, I think we've made about one potion a year for the past fifty years. This is the first one that does what it's supposed to. Well, eventually, anyway. It must have fermented in the bottle or something. Sorry you got caught in the middle.”

Dean waved that away. ”Don't worry about it. One thing I don't get, though. Who told you about that grave sow? It wasn't really a little bird, was it?”

”Yes. Well, no, not a little one. A falcon. The great-great-great... Oh, I don't know how many greats. Great-something-granddaughter of an old friend.” She sighed. ”How time does fly.”

”Speaking of which,” Sam said apologetically, ”the library closes in an hour, and if we want to get some research done we'd better get going.”

Dean lay his head on the table. ”I hate libraries that close early.”

”You're certainly welcome back,” Miss Dinah assured them.

”Yeah?” Dean asked, peeking up at her. ”Will you be human?”

”Well, I can't make any promises, but you're welcome back either way.”

Sam twiddled the pencil between his fingers, a smile tugging at his mouth.

”Funny book?” Dean asked levelly.

”I was thinking of this afternoon,” Sam admitted. ”It was a waste of time, really, but still...”

”Very interesting for a waste of time,” Dean agreed. ”And hey, maybe it's not just a waste. How do you think a kangaroo would do fighting a grave sow?”

”Dean, no! They've gotta be seventy years old, at least!”

”Spry seventy. The way I figure, they're gonna be turning themselves into kangaroos anyway.”

”We're not asking them to fight the grave sow.”

Dean shrugged. ”Suit yourself.” He buried himself in his book, and for a while all was quiet.

Sam suddenly sat up straight. ”Hey.”

”Hey what?”

”Does this town have any murdered babies?”

”Why, you got a hankering?”

”Gross, Dean, even for you.”

”A couple. Desperate mothers, that kind of thing. Why?”

”It says here grave sows are believed to originate from murdered babies.”

”Okay, then.” Dean closed his book, grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit. ”Let's go burn some baby bones.”

On the way out, he gave Sam a wide grin. ”You know what? I think I'm gonna call up the Palfreys tomorrow, see if I can have some of that five-foot-feet potion.”

”Why would you want five foot long feet?”

” _I_ wouldn't. Just thinking maybe as a sweetener for your coffee.”

”Dean!”

Dean just chuckled.


End file.
